


Thunderstruck Smiles

by LiterallyLen



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17704736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiterallyLen/pseuds/LiterallyLen
Summary: He’s got a face more akin to Bambi than some sort of Harlequin hero. Curly chestnut hair that falls over his forehead, bright eyes that sparkle with something that just captivates anyone who’s looking. He’s got on a pink tie and a rainbow colored Wonder Woman pin with his slim cut, black suit— And he’s nothing that Ronan’s ever known.-OR-Dweebs who first met.Edit: I've re uploaded the second chap to how it was intended instead of cutting off those couple paragraphs and I'm sorry for being such a space head<3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely Anon on tumblr asked for them at the start of their relationship, so i gave them when they first met becs i'm the worst<3<3

There’s an open bar that’s doling out white wine to the familiar faced frenzy of suit clad guys, and sharp looking ladies that infest these sorts of gatherings, and Ronan’s beyond thankful. 

He’s a fresh twenty-three, but still has an uneasy smile on his face when he’s finally served— still nervous that the whole cherubic features thing and uptight posture will make’m think he’s too young. Too young to get a drink, to young to be wearing such an expensive suit. Hell, they’d probably declare him too young to even be here— in the midst of some of the most influential people in all of DC (Read: most influential people in the fucking world). And seriously, if they did, Ronan wouldn’t argue— They’re right. He’s not suppose to be here. Ronan’s just the trust fund kid of an old Hollywood icon, and a disgusting piece of shit he refuses to even think about. Yeah, he’s smart— “My brilliant, reserved prince,” as his mother had always crooned— But still… Ronan’s not suppose to be here and he knows it. It’s why he’s still shaking when the bored looking bartender hands him his drink. Why Ronan feels a twist in his gut at the thought of penetrating that shiny bubble of elites that have begun to gather in the middle of the grandiose room.

Ronan knows that he’s got a name that’d turn heads, that he has a smile that makes it easy for him to make a girl blush. Ronan can keep up with the wittiest of banter, and can make references of old philosophers and poets that he hasn’t reflected on for years. What he doesn’t know, what he’ll never know, is if he could’ve had all this if he wasn’t the remarkable child of Tinsel Town royalty— if he wasn’t known to the world since before his birth. 

But yeah, Ronan’ll never know, and he’s long excepted that, and besides, this is definitely not the place to continue pondering on that very real dilemma. So when the easy going, ever affable national security spokesman who’s been nothing but kind to Ronan since starting a couple weeks ago, Tommy, waves him over to the other side of the room, Ronan sucks it up and pretends to be the confident, boy-wonder that people usually think he should be.

“Farrow, didn’t know you were gonna be here,” Tommy says with his crooked smile and genuinely happy eyes. 

“Looks like i’m rising up the ranks faster than you bet on,” he counters, making Tommy and the friends surrounding him laugh. 

He introduces him to everyone, and Ronan shakes hands and says pleasantries as expected, recognizing a few names like one of the President’s top speech writers— Jon Favreau, no relation to the Hollywood director, and a few others whom are constantly in and out of the state department. 

“You guys excited for the upcoming election?” A dark skinned girl, far too pretty to be stuck behind the scenes of this sleazy city, says with a smile. “I can only imagine who the republicans rag out to run.”

The conversation falls into easy, non threatening topics, and Ronan actually thinks he’s got some sort of footing amongst these people— even if he got the chance just because his surname is Farrow, and it’s good, it’s fine. He’s doing okay. 

But then, just as he’s telling the punch line of a stupid joke— one that he just knows’ll make them all laugh— someone interjects… Someone who’s more hurricane than man, Ronan’s sure of it. 

He’s got a face more akin to Bambi over some sort of Harlequin hero. Curly chestnut hair that falls over his forehead, bright eyes that sparkle with something that just captivates anyone who’s looking. He’s got on a pink tie and a rainbow colored Wonder Woman pin with his slim cut, black suit— And he’s nothing that Ronan’s ever known.

“Hey there party people,” he crows, a New Yorker—Ronan can just tell. One of each of his hands is clasped around Tommy and Cody’s shoulders, respectively. 

“Lovett, late as per usual,” Favreau toots, obviously joking, obviously close to this someone Ronan’s never so much as passed in the halls, and seriously Ronan feels a sudden need to pull him aside and ask all the questions that dance on the tip of his tongue regarding this beautiful, whirlwind of a man.

He doesn’t. 

Instead Ronan keeps his mouth shut and just kind of watches it happen around him— sometimes he thinks he’s only ever watching, and never really taking his own agency by the horns. 

“You gotta keep them wanting more Jonny,” the interloper, Lovett, says with a cheeky leer.

“That’s why you leave early, not come late,” Tommy corrects in that deadpan way of his, which just makes Lovett wave him off with a cross flick of the hand.

“Hogwash, now cease this nonsense, and tell me what’d I miss? Anyone as drunk as Booker got last month?”

“You missed Tommy introducing us to that new upstart in the Secretary’s office,” Jon offers, but Lovett’s not paying attention anymore, eyes flickering around the room, in obvious search for someone else, and not interested in a conversation that has anything to do with Ronan.

“Mmm, is that right?”

“Ronan Farrow.”

He has no idea what came over him, but just suddenly, excruciatingly, Ronan wanted Lovett to know him— actually know him— and for him to know Lovett too. He doesn’t know why— or maybe he just wants to pretend that he doesn’t know why— but it’s all very nerve wracking all the same.

And suddenly the weight on his chest— the anxiety he caused himself— became buoyant, fluttering away when Lovett finally looks at him, and only him. 

“Ah right, the Boywonder,” he dimples, and Ronan returns it ten fold. 

“The one.”

Nice to meet ya Boy-wonder,” he says with all snark, shaking Ronan’s hand far too quickly for his liking.

“Watch out, if people keep calling me that I might have to get it trademarked.”

Lovett laughs, and Ronan loves the fact that he does it with his whole body, like he’s utterly invested. His eyes crinkle adorably, and his head tilts back too. It’s quite precious if Ronan has anything to say about it.

“Hey, stick to Afghanistan kid, the funny bit ’s mine.”

“Is that a challenge,” Ronan smirks and feels something wonderful thud against his chest when Lovett looks at him with eyes that glimmer with mischief. 

But then the moment breaks.

Lovett spots someone over Ronan’s shoulder— the person he’s probably been in search for all night— and he promises to catch up with everyone later on.

Jon and Tommy give him twin expressions of fond exasperation, and it’s all Ronan has not to follow Jon and this new guy he’s never met before to the back of the room where they’ve begun to meander.

 

The conversation falls back to the muted grays it was before Lovett’s presence made everything feel like it was sparkling around him, and it’s okay.

Ronan’s fine.


	2. Short Lived Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovett nods, prim and playful. And God, Ronan’s never thought before that he’d be so enthralled by a contradiction until he’s seen one breathed to life in the form of Jon Ira Lovett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow IDK how I even screwed up so bad uploading this chap lmfao.... But anyways
> 
> Thank you so so much to @OkayStop and @SelfRescuingPrincess for your incredibly kind reviews for the first chapter!!
> 
> Just a couple notes, I was mistaken, in this current time line, Ronan had just turned 23 over 24 lol. And secondly I've got an idea of where I want to take this story, so I hope that you guys will like it so far<3<3

Ronan’s drenched— absolutely and positively soaking from the hellish concoction of rain and hale that’s been pelleting down all morning, in the middle of fucking January. And for fuck’s sake, what is this kind of weather.

He feels frazzled, and wrong footed as he scurries to his office on the upper level, already annoyedly planning to reprint some files that were in his bag and were surely ruined from his walk once getting off the metro, when he hears someone calling for him, which makes him pivot around.

“Boy-wonder!”

“Lovett.”

“Hey you remember my name,” he says, walking towards him with a swagger. 

“You’re not wet,” Ronan asks with a quirk of the brow, which makes Lovett’s smile melt into a leer. 

“You know that’s not the first time a guy’s said that to me, though usually more disappointed sounding.”

Ronan’s cheeks flush red, but Lovett doesn’t even seem to notice, nudging him along to follow him into the elevator. 

“Believe it or not Boy-wonder, I’ve got this nifty little app on my phone that tells me the weather before I’ve gotta leave my place.”

Ronan glares at him, suitably indignant. 

“I woke up late.”

“Ah, but you see. A few seconds spared this morning will now cost you to be uncomfortable and cranky all day.”

“You’re kind of a pragmatist prick, aren’t you.”

Lovett laughs and it’s still the most delightful sound in the galaxy. 

“So what brings you to these parts?” He asks him while they walk off the elevator, silently noticing how this time Lovett’s got on a floral pattern tie that really shouldn’t go with the blue suit he’s got on, but he miraculously makes it work.

“Maybe I just wanted to visit my old boss, you got a problem with that Boy-wonder?” He scoffs, faux affronted.

“You worked for the secretary?”

“Everyone’s worked for everyone in this city,” he snorts with more than a bit of cynicism lacing his words. “DC’s like a broken Marry-Go-Round.”

“Worked out good for you though, hmm?”

“Hey, none of that self reflecting bullshit when you’re around me, okay?” He scolds with no heat while they turn the corner.

“Oh I see, I apologize for this most horrendous of grievances.”

Lovett nods, prim and playful. And God, Ronan’s never thought before that he’d be so enthralled by a contradiction until he’s seen one breathed to life in the form of Jon Ira Lovett. 

“So, do tell. What is allowed around your presence?”

Lovett thumbs his chin, as if Ronan had just asked him for his stance on the ethical violations plaguing South Sudan. 

“Hmm… Critiques on trash reality television, the lost golden age of Hollywood cinema, and how weight watchers is a fucking scam. Oh, while drinking copious amounts of Starbucks too. That’s an important one.”

“Right, well Starbucks is obviously the superior brand.”

“That’s what I’m saying Boy-wonder, but it’s the public man. THey’ll call you pretentious and inauthentic if you even say it out loud.” He laments with a thrashing to one of his arms, making Ronan laugh without effort.

“It’s a very divisive issue, I’m sure, good thing you work somewhere like the White House. So that you don’t have to deal with those sorts of life altering decisions at least in your professional life.”

“I like you Boy-Wonder, you understand the trials and tribulations I have to go through.”

It most definitely does not feel like something warm and splendid coils in the pit of Ronan’s stomach at that simple, passing comment. 

“You know most people just call me Ronan,” he decides to needle, just to be contrary.

“Yeah, but it lacks that pizazz factor I’m going for,” Lovett counters without missing a beat.

“Ah I see, you’ve got the big picture in mind.” 

They share a small, surreptitious smile, like they were school boys scared of being caught.

Lovett’s phone chirps, and Ronan suddenly remembers that he’s in a very professional setting, and that he should most definitely not be looking at Lovett like that.

“Mm, ’s Tommy. I promised’m I’d help out with this speech he’s trying to write.”

Ronan tries not to look as disappointed as he feels.

“Oh, yeah. i’ve got a whole new round of memos to print off and look over before noon.”

“Cool, cool. Hey, why don’t you swing by my place tomorrow night? Me and the guys are holding some party for football or something.”

“The playoffs?”

“You partake then?” He says excitedly, brows hiked and smile glittering. 

“Oh no, no, no. My girlfriend’s father, huge fan. I literally don’t know the difference between a field goal and whatever a regular score is called.”

Ronan thinks that he sees a flicker of something like disappointment in Lovett’s lovely brown eyes, but it passes as quickly as it came and Ronan doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it.

“Perfect! I won’t be ganged up on then!”

“Glad to be of help.” 

“So you’ll come around? Hey, bring your chick over too. It’s a free for all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he tries to say as if he were cool. “Sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll text you my address.”

Giddy, Ronan hands over his phone and tells Lovett that he’ll see him tomorrow after he puts in his details and bids Ronan goodbye. 

He’d like to pretend that he doesn’t already miss Lovett’s company.

 

~*~

 

Ronan’s about ninety percent sure that the criminally small townhouse that Lovett and Tommy share with two other speech writers in the administration is currently filled with double the capacity size. He bets that this’d be a throwback to the quintessential college dorm party if he went to college at a normal age— is half prepared to catch someone shotgunning a beer.

Tommy and Cody are holding court in front of the entertainment set with a whole gaggle of dudes with beers in their hands and chips and dip taking up the whole surface area of their measly coffee table, while Ronan and his sometimes girlfriend, Stella, are lounging against the countertop with Favreau and co, indifferent to the game but still having a good time.

Mike, the fourth roommate, is telling them about how he got his entire arm split open while running around Lincoln Park back in Chicago as a kid, and Ronan pretends to be listening, as if his eyes weren’t flickering around the entire room for one person in particular. 

“It reminds me of how Ronan had to get stitches when he was only five because he slipped down the tree he was climbing,” Stella chortles, squeezing the hand he’s got laced in hers affectionately. 

“Nice,” Favreau commends. 

“’S not even the worst scar I’ve got,” Ronan grins, eyes still fixed on the front door. 

He’s thankful that it’s only ten minutes later that finds Tommy padding up to them, pulling another beer out of the fridge while asking Favreau the question Ronan’s been contemplating all night but to chickenshit to ask out loud.

“Where’s Lovett?”

“I dunno,” Favreau says with his perpetual puppy dog optimism, one shoulder lifting up in a shrug. “He said he had to take a call like an hour ago but he just never came back.”

“You guys think it’s that secret lover of his, that he weirdly refuses to even mention to us.” Cody asks.

“Dunno, but hey, you wanna know something else weird? His fantasy football team is kicking mine’s ass.”

Everyone around Ronan and Stella burst into raucous laughter. 

“He literally chose his team based off of their butts,” Tommy informs them, flat.

“This is the best news I’ve heard all week,” the girl Ronan recognizes from the party a couple weeks ago, Britney, stammers out, totally gleeful.

“I’m telling you all that this Rodgers is the total package. Does that sports thing, comes from a land of cheese. And on top of all that, he’s got an inordinately amazing ass.”

Ronan bites down on his lip to prevent from smiling, watches eagerly when Lovett finally makes his presence known, snatching the yet unopened can from Tommy’s hand and slinging a casual arm around Britney’s shoulder.

“You just have no respect for the sport,” Tommy sniffs, and Lovett retorts by waggling his tongue out at him.

“You made it for the third quarter at least,” Cody tells him, but Lovett just shakes his head. 

“I think imma just call it a night.”

“It’s eight o’clock?” Britney says with knitted brows.

“Proud of you boo, you learn how to read the time all by yourself while I’ve been gone?”

Laughing, Britney cuffs him on the back of the head and he smacks a kiss on her cheek in farewell before shuffling back to his room.

He doesn’t so much as smile Ronan’s way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!!
> 
> Truly, I'm not sure how i like this chapter.... I feel like my writing is very subpar to how I know I can write, so if anyone has any prompts or one shots you'd like see written, please feel free to let me know in the comments below or on Tumblr, I just think I need to play with these characters some more lol.
> 
> I would love you for forever and a day if you let know what you thought of this chapter!!! 
> 
> Thank you so so much!
> 
> All My Love  
> ~Len

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so so much for reading!!!!! It means the absolute world to me!!! Truly!!!
> 
> If you left a comment down below letting me know what you thought I'd love you for forever and a day!!!
> 
> BTW I am so entirely tempted to make this a full blown WIP about how they actually got to where they are now, any thoughts?
> 
> Hope to hear from you soon!
> 
> I'm also always wanting peeps to squeal with on Tumblr, so come chat with me!! I'm [ @BansheeBabbles](http://bansheebabbles.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ~Len


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